


My heart eats only for you

by psychomachia



Category: Ravenous (1999)
Genre: Cannibalism, False Identity, M/M, Post-Canon, bear traps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 07:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21157778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/pseuds/psychomachia
Summary: There was another yell outside, the sound of a brief scuffle, then another thud.“Well, now he's just doing this to rub it in,” Boyd said.





	My heart eats only for you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [draculard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/gifts).

It was hard not to look at him. Thomas really didn't want to make eye contact with the man in the corner, but keeping watch meant making sure he didn't suddenly make a break for it. Not that the man would. He was clapped in irons, his hair falling stringy and lank in front of his face.

He shivered. He didn't know what it was about the man, since the most they got out of him was “I need to speak to the major,” but there was something mad in his eyes.

The door opened and Thomas jumped to his feet as Major Jackson entered the room.

“At ease, Corporal,” the major said. He jerked his head to his adjutants at his side. “You may leave us.”

The other men in the room exited and Thomas turned to go. “Not you, Corporal,” he added. “I understand it was you that found this man. I would like you to remain.”

The door shut neatly behind them.

“He says his name is Boyd, sir,” Thomas ventured quietly into the silence.

There was a small chuckle behind him, but when Thomas looked at Major Jackson, his face was cool and calm. “Captain Boyd,” he said.

Then more quietly, “It's been a while.”

Boyd didn't look at him, but Thomas did in surprise. “You know him, sir?”

Jackson sat down on one of the rickety wooden chairs, templed his fingers in front of him. “An old friend,” he said. “One I haven't seen for a while.”

Boyd raised his head, met Jackson's glance. “Yes,” he said softly.

Thomas shivered. He didn't know why.

* * *

He supposed he had always been slightly in awe of Jackson. The man came to them in the middle of the night, appearing out of the fog like some apparition.

And in the days to come, he was like a ghost, always moving quietly and silently. You'd seen him out of the corner of your eye, just standing there, watching you.

The men had taken bets on when he'd leave. Someone like that, who wouldn't argue, wouldn't assert himself, couldn't last long under Colonel Harrison's watch. Because it was clear Colonel Harrison didn't like him. He'd tell him to do things that the lowest of the low should do – clean out the latrines, wash out the cooking pots, chop the wood until your hands were blistered.

But Major Jackson never complained, never said no, followed every order perfectly.

And in the end, he didn't leave first. Harrison did, one morning, leaving a note saying that he had been called away and putting Jackson in charge until a replacement could arrive.

Six months in, no one had replaced him, and several men had deserted. Hawthorne, Gibson, Lowe – all just walked out one morning and never came back.

“It's all right,” Major Jackson said. “I understand their concern. I'm sure that they will return one day.” For all those words, though, he didn't seem like he really expected them back.

Now sitting here, Major Jackson loosely sitting in the chair, staring intently at Boyd, Thomas got the impression that this was someone the major had expected to see. Wanted to see.

“Captain Boyd,” he said. “What brings you to my neck of the woods? Can't be the weather. It's shit out right now.”

Boyd just shrugged. “Maybe I wanted to check in, see how you were doing? Seem to be doing pretty well.”

“Yes,” Jackson's smile was thin. “It's been hard work to get here. Not everyone made it that easy for me.”

“Well, whatever doesn't kill you,” Boyd trailed off. “But I guess you know how that ends.”

“Considering I heard reports of your death bandied about, I would venture to say you know too.” Jackson's fingers cracked, a sharp noise that Thomas jumped at.

“Funny thing about that,” Boyd said. “It didn't take.”

“Fancy that.”

There was definitely a conversation that Thomas was missing here, but he had the feeling that he really didn't want to know exactly what that was.

“Heard some other strange tales as well.” Jackson's voice was still quiet, but it carried in the stillness of the room. “Stories of dead men and missing bodies and even cannibalism. But that can't be true, can it?”

“You'd be surprised,” Boyd said. “Well, the corporal here would be. But we're old friends, so you'd believe anything I told you, right?”

Jackson grinned, his teeth white and gleaming. He didn't smile often,but it was always strange how sharp they were. “For you, anything. Not that you deserve it.”

“Did you want me to apologize?” Boyd's eyes shone with that queer light again. “Get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness?”

Jackson shook his head, still smiling. “I guess I shouldn't expect it. It's just—well, I guess we just have different tastes after all.”

Boyd didn't respond, but there was a gurgle from his stomach.

Jackson's grin only sharpened. “Hungry? I would have thought you would have eaten by now?”

“Maybe I was waiting for you.” Boyd stretched and his chains rattled. “But don't worry. I can look after myself. I don't need your assistance.”

“But I think you do,” Jackson said. “Or else why would you be here?” He stood up. “Don't bother answering. You needn't lie to me.”

Thomas had been watching this, too uneasy to interrupt, so he jumped when Jackson turned his gaze to him. “Corporal.”

“Major?”

“Stay with Boyd here. Make sure he doesn't run out. Wouldn't want him freezing to death out there in his condition.”

“Yes, sir!” Jackson walked towards the door, and Thomas wondered if he had ever seen the man so—well, happy.

The door shut behind him.

Thomas sat back down.

“I won't run,” Boyd said mildly to Thomas. “But I do believe you should. Quite far and quite fast.”

“I don't—what are you even talking about?”

“How well do you know Major Jackson, Corporal?”

Thomas opened his mouth, closed it without saying a word.

“Let me tell you a story. Just a little one. Once upon a time, there was a man named Boyd who went to a remote fort out west where he met a strange man named Colqhoun who told a terrible tale about Colonel Ives, a man who murdered and devoured the people he was supposed to watch out for. But it turned out that it was Colqhoun who did it, and he was able to do so again, luring Boyd into the same horrible fate. He wanted to make a family of cannibals.”

Thomas looked at him in mute horror. Boyd smiled thinly.

“It didn't work, of course. Boyd couldn't live with this and tried to take both of them out. He even thought he succeeded. But--”

Boyd stood up, letting the chains dangle between his wrists. He spread his arms outwards as far as they would go. Thomas unconsciously took a step back.

“You see, Colqhoun uses many names. I'm not entirely sure that even is his real name. Still, he was rather fond of Ives for a time, and I rather thought he would use it forever. But I suppose even that must get old after a while and Jackson does have a good ring to it.”

There was a muffled cry from outside, then a dull thunk of something hitting the ground.

“Oh,” Boyd said. “That's probably the bear trap. I suppose that hasn't changed either.”

* * *

“I don't believe you,” Thomas said. “You have to be—that can't be--”

“Don't worry.” Boyd leaned against the wall as he watched Thomas try to stop himself from screaming uncontrollably. “We have a few minutes. He's not going to eat him raw. That would be uncivilized.”

“You're telling me that Major Jackson is—is a cannibal?” Thomas's voice was high, pitched in hysteria and terror.

“No,” Boyd said patiently. “Major Jackson was never a cannibal.” He frowned. “I don't even think he liked eating red meat. But Colonel Ives is most definitely one and I'm afraid to say, he's been picking off people here for quite some time. Have some men gone missing?”

Thomas nodded.

“I thought so. They're probably dead. Out of curiosity, who does the cooking around here?”

“Well, I mean, we used to have a native do it, but Colonel Harrison said that we all had to pull our own weight and not rely on outsiders. So Major--” Thomas's voice trailed off and he swallowed the sudden rising bile in his throat. “Major Jackson.”

Boyd laughed, not pleasantly. “Well, I suppose even the deserters are contributing in some way.”

“How can you--”

There was another yell outside, the sound of a brief scuffle, then another thud.

“Well, now he's just doing this to rub it in,” Boyd said. “Honestly, it's a miracle he hasn't been caught before now.”

“So what do I do?” Spots were swimming in front of Thomas's eyes as he tried not to faint from sheer terror. “I mean, what do we do?”

“Don't ask me,” Boyd said. “I'm a coward. I wasn't even expecting him to be here. I thought I would be able to catch up with an old friend, hide out for a little bit, then take off for parts unknown. Instead, I'm face to face with the man I quite unsuccessfully tried to kill in a bear trap. I don't imagine he took it very well so I think you'll have to be the one to kill him.”

“Me?”

“Clearly he's expecting me to do it.” Boyd cracked his neck, let his hair fall away from his face. “And I don't want to give him that satisfaction. It'll just make him insufferable.”

Thomas gaped at him. “I don't—what kind of connection do you have with this man?”

“Oh, Corporal,” Boyd sighed. “I don't even know where to begin.”

Footsteps echoed outside the door. “I guess he couldn't wait after all,” Boyd said. “He must be hungry too.”

“Is that—oh, God, what do I do?” Thomas clenched his fist, his knuckles turning white. “I can't--”

“No,” Boyd said. “I suppose you can't. But please try. Is there something in this room that you could use? I imagine you don't have anything actually upon you.”

“There's a poker over by the fire,” Thomas said.

“Well, that will have to do. Perhaps you'll catch him by surprise.”

Thomas numbly picked up the poker, held it in his right hand.

The door swung open.

Major Jackson took in the sight of them, Boyd leaning against the wall while Thomas clutched the poker in a death grip. He raised an eyebrow.

“I have missed quite the conversation. What has he been saying to you?”

“Major—sir--” Thomas stammered. “He says—I mean--”

“Oh, Boyd,” Jackson said. “What sort of lies have you been telling this poor boy? Does he know how utterly mad you are?” He smiled softly at Thomas. “My dear friend here went through quite a bit at his old post. He's never been the same since. Prattles on about the oddest things.”

“He told me—Colonel Ives--”

Jackson shook his head. “Colonel Ives? That man's been dead for years. I don't think Boyd ever got over his death. Keeps imagining he sees him in every corner of the room, every shadow that dogs his step.”

“So you're saying that he's making this all up—that he's insane?”

“Does he look sane to you?” Jackson pointed to Boyd, who only stared calmly back at Thomas.

“No, sir,” Thomas said. “Only?”

“Only?”

He looked at the Major, swallowed a little. “Only you're covered in blood and carrying an axe and I think that's an arm in the hallway behind you.”

“Good eye, Corporal,” Boyd said. “I think the hand might still be attached to it.” He turned to Jackson. “Did you really think that was going to work?”

“It was worth a try,” Jackson said mildly. “He might have been dumb enough to overlook it.”

Thomas raised the poker. Jackson smiled at him.

“Now, Thomas, I can only guess what Boyd has told you. But he hasn't told you the full truth.” Jackson let the axe fall to the floor. “There's one thing I know he's hiding from you.”

Thomas's hand wavered slightly. The poker shone in the firelight.

“He is right, you know, that my name isn't Jackson.”

The man leaned forward, his eyes boring into Thomas's own. His gaze was mesmerizing, and Thomas couldn't look away. His voice was a whisper, a soft chill that burrowed its way into Thomas's bones.

“But his name isn't Boyd.”

There was a flash of pain in his head, and Thomas found himself hitting the floor, the poker dropping beside him. He lifted his hand to his head. It came away, wet and stick with blood.

Things wavered in front of him.

And then---

Nothing.

* * *

Ives tossed the spade aside, let the chains rattle as he fully stretched out. “Really, Boyd,” he said. “Do you have to make everything so difficult?”

Boyd neatly smoothed down his uniform, ruined with blood and brains and shrugged. “Maybe I just wanted you to suffer,” he said. “Or maybe I thought it was time I got to be the one in charge.”

Ives walked over, let his hands trace Boyd's cheeks, wrap around his neck and squeeze gently. Just a slight menace. Boyd rose to his touch. “At least things are never dull with you,” he said. “And I am sorry about our disagreement.”

Boyd kissed him, let the blood in his mouth seep into Ives' own. It wasn't a total lie. He probably was completely insane. He had to be to let Ives do what he did.

_Let Ives push all their viscera inside them, let him drag the two of them away to a cave to recover. Let Ives leave him there to lie in his own blood, waking to find the man had brought meat back to them. Let him push it into his own mouth and stop wondering, stop asking, stop fighting about where it came from._

_Let Ives kiss him one night, let his tongue explore Boyd's mouth, let his teeth leave Boyd bloody and raw with marks, let him rip chunks of flesh out of his body and devour it whole, let him feed his own flesh to Boyd, let him drain Boyd so that he arched back, spattering Boyd's face and Boyd licked it all clean to the last drop. Let him come inside him, Boyd taking him in and wondering in an absurd moment if this would heal him too._

_Blood and flesh and bone and come and all of it for the feasting, for the taking. Why had he resisted it? Perhaps in some nights, the old Boyd would claw at his mind, screaming at him to try to end it all once again, and he would wake, eyeing Ives, wondering how many body parts the man could lose. If you drained every drop of blood from him, chopped him into a million pieces, would that finally be the end?_

_And Ives, his eyes glinting in the darkness, bares his throat, licks his lips, and say, "Oh, Boyd. If you want my heart, all you have to do is ask." _

He's tried to hide. He's tried to run. He's tried to kill the darkest part of him, the one that wants to devour and consume death until he no longer fears it. All he's done is marry it. For better, for worse, until nothing can part us, for we have drank and ate of each other until we no longer know where one man begins and the other one ends. 

So their little fight is nothing in the grand scheme of things. 

Boyd supposed that they really should make up and he's willing to admit he might have been the one that was wrong. After all, there was so much meat for the taking and young Thomas was such a sweet boy. It would be a shame to let him be nothing more than supper.

“I guess,” Boyd said, taking a slight nip to Ives's ear and tasting the coppery, well-missed taste of the man, “I guess we could think about having kids.”


End file.
